The Committee of Domestic Affairs
by breatheinsync
Summary: Set a few weeks after 2x21. Olivia and Fitz deal with the possibility of a future together in the wake of his promise to run for re-election.


It had been the most singularly long, and unbearably humid, day in the history of her life, she was sure of it. The wide legs of her cream-colored Armani trousers clung precariously to the sticky skin on her legs, a thin sheen of sweat covering her body as she headed into her building. The heat had become a nightmare, tormenting her as she solved one crisis situation and was off to the races on another. Her job normally thrilled her, but today had been the first time that she had resented her responsibilities.

It had been nearly a week since she had seen Fitz. It wasn't as though he was out of the country, on a very important international trip. No, he was here, with less than 10 miles of distance separating them, but he felt a world away. She tried to tell herself that she shouldn't have come to rely on him, gotten so comfortable in the stability of his presence, but there it was. His absence resounded even more poignantly in the wake of their 21 minutes.

Pressing the button on her elevator to her floor, she leaned back against the cool wood paneling, closing her eyes for a moment of rest as she let it carry her up to her floor. When the familiar "ding" sounded, she groaned in exhaustion before finally opening her eyes, seeing two familiar faces flanking her door.

The anticipation surged instantly, a thoughtless reaction as her smile found its place on her mouth, corners turning upward in perfect symmetry as she nodded her acknowledgement to Hal, before speaking only to Tom.

"How long?" she asked, the shorthand conversations having become a part of her routine since Fitz had announced on national television that he and his wife were in the process of getting divorced.

"Not too long, ma'am. About 15 minutes," he answered. Though his face didn't change, his tone was kind and made her feel instantly at ease. In the few weeks that had passed since Fitz had declared his intentions to run for re-election, she had become more and more acquainted with the SSA's presence and they'd built a light rapport.

"Thanks, Tom," she added before unlocking the door and stepping into the coolness of her apartment. Toeing off her shoes, she stood silently for a moment, hearing the soft strains of humming in the background. Neatly placing her purse on the couch, she headed toward the sound, eyebrows furrowed quizzically.

"Fitz?" she called out, before turning into her kitchen, her espresso eyes going wide with surprise at the scene that greeted her. He stood in the center of the space, wearing a comfortable button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tucked into a pair of dark blue jeans. His clever hands were busy at the moment, chopping up what looked suspiciously like a red bell pepper as she got closer.

"Hi," he said quietly, leaving the vegetable on the cutting board as he moved to where she stood, leaning down to absently kiss her lips. Her eyebrows furrowed again at the nonchalance of the gesture, before motioning a hand to the activity in her kitchen. On the stove there were two pots bubbling noisily away, on the counter a bottle of wine was left open to breathe beside a glass half filled, and there were a number of bowls filled with ingredients.

"Hi," she replied. "Uh, what are you doing?"

"Performing brain surgery," he retorted before taking a sip of the glass of wine. She side-eyed him for a moment before he filled another glass for her, holding it out for her.

"Such a funny man, you are."

"Thanks, Yoda. Now, I imagine this is a very unfamiliar scene for you, but in the normal world, it's often referred to as 'cooking' and people usually do it before eating."

"Oh, I see. Well, I'm sure that one of the hundreds of members of your staff told you all about the real world, Mr. President."

She felt the warmth of his chuckle and tiptoed closer to him, indulging herself by stepping between him and the counter. It shocked her for a second, how desperately she'd missed him. The familiarity of his cologne, the register of his sound, the feel of his hands as they found their usual place on her hips.

"Kiss me again," she mumbled, surprising both of them with her eagerness. He dipped his head to find her mouth, his tongue teasingly tracing her top lip before slipping inside to seek out her own, tasting her need instantly. Slowly, he lifted his head and rubbed the edge of his nose against hers, easing himself back, heading to the stove to stir whatever was in the small pot. She rested her palms on the counter behind her, swaying slightly for a moment as she glared at his back for his strange behavior.

Wordlessly, she left her kitchen to change into something more comfortable. Taking her time to peel off her sweaty clothes and rummaging around for something new while barely dressed, she stared at her image in the mirror with her hands on her hips. Fitz had remarkably blasé in response to her initiating an intimate moment and it irked her more than she wanted to admit. It had been days since they'd seen each other, and yet, he wasn't even responding to her as he would normally.

Slipping into heather gray sleeveless top and a pair of lounge pants, she padded back to the kitchen, watching him pouring fresh pasta into the larger pot, stirring it just once before turning back to her.

"Better?" he wondered, bright eyes moving slowly down her body before meeting her eyes again. She nodded, moving back to the counter before hoisting herself up and sitting at the edge of him, legs swinging.

"Where'd you get the pots and pans?" she spoke, reaching into the salad bowl and stealing a carrot, munching it on thoughtfully.

"I have my ways, Olivia Pope. You're not the only one who can get things handled," he replied, rinsing off her cutting board before arranging the clean board and knife beside the sink. She couldn't help but notice how at ease he was in such a domestic setting, whereas she felt nothing but irritation and reluctance when faced with the idea of having to make anything more complicated than popcorn. Her mind foolishly wandered further into her hopes, toward privately imagined possibilities for the future. She felt suddenly wary, suddenly frightened by the fact that she couldn't imagine tiring of him being there.

"What're you doing, Fitz?" she asked, her tone suddenly soft and serious. She sat straight up, spine prepared for denials, fight-or-flight instincts simmering to the top. He noticed the change immediately, but said nothing even as he stirred the pasta again, fishing out a piece to check if it was done. Their silence hung in the air, taut and heavy, filling up the space between them, adding to the distance as he strained the pasta, pouring it into a large bowl before turning to face her.

He moved until he was directly in front of her, moving closer as his body insinuated itself between her legs, resting his palms on her thighs.

"I'm making dinner," he replied, as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Why?"

"Popcorn isn't one of my major food groups."

"Why?" she repeated, meeting his eyes this time, the unsaid words weighing down her question.

"Why what?" he demanded, wanting to hear her say it.

"Why are you wasting our time?" she asked, the words out before she could stop, unable to be erased. And he understood then, that she still didn't believe him. Even after he had run out the clock for her. Even after their whispered promises before the Constitution and their moaned vows during endless nights, she still wasn't convinced that they had a future together. A forever.

His hands lifted to frame her face as he leaned in close enough for his breath to caress her face.

"Because we have time to waste."

* * *

**A/N: Dear readers and fellow Olitz shippers, I figure that after the emotional wreckage of that season finale, we all deserve a hopeful Olitz fanfic. I started writing this as a drabble for an Anon on tumblr, but it grew with my feels. I hope you enjoy it! As always, comments are more than welcomed. **


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